


Caelus: World of Stories (drabbles)

by DreamlessAshes



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-07-31 10:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20113900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamlessAshes/pseuds/DreamlessAshes
Summary: A collection of drabbles taking place in my work-in-progress webcomic, Caelus. These are either written versions of episodes or side stories that likely won't make it in.





	1. An Unsatisfying Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hair as black as ebony. Lips as red as the rose. Skin as white as snow. A maiden so beautiful, she's encased in glass instead of dirt. Beloved by all but one and naive enough to fall for a poisoned apple."
> 
> Aella was aware of her naivete, but she didn't have any reason to change it. She had great friends, a supportive family, a loving fiance, and a lot of money.

Despite being a Seelie of the purest lineage, Blanche LeFay was born in darkness. With hair dark as night, skin pale as moonlight, and lips red like blood, she looked nothing like her relatives. When her wings took form, they were massive, ornate butterfly wings of dusty violet and brilliant red. She was astoundingly beautiful.

Despite her appearance, her childhood was nothing notable. Her relatives and friends were all worried that her beauty was so fate-shaking that something bad would balance it out. As time passed, their worries disappeared. Blanche’s early years matched her noble status. She was raised in luxuries but had a good temperament and wasn’t spoiled. There really wasn’t much to say.

The most heart-racing event to ever occur was when she fell in love with a hunter from the village down the hill.

He called himself Aerre Pomme. He wasn’t born in the village and had merely settled there on a whim after years of traveling. Even though he was a peasant, he was well-versed in literature. His first meeting with Blanche at the riverside led to hours of endless praise and poems for her beauty spilling out of his mouth. Like that, he followed her like a loyal puppy. 

Little by little, the two fell more and more in love. Similarly, everyone around them loved to watch their interactions. They were so tooth-achingly sweet.

_ “Lovely Lady of the Light,” _ Aerre called out towards the balcony high above him. _ “The wisteria fields are blooming, my dear, and the river shimmers like glass. The beauty of nature is here to behold and breathtaking upon first glance. Yet, even so, none can compare, when I look upon you from here. The sun behind merely a halo for your features, hair glossy as it reflects the warm light—“ _

_ “Oh, hush already!” _ Blanche shouted from inside. She pushed the balcony doors open, gossamer curtains flying out around her. Aerre stared as the billowing fabrics around her glistened, making her more ethereal than she already was. Blanche glared at him, shut her doors behind her, then jumped over the railing without care for grace. 

_ “Hello, my dear!” _ Aerre laughed as he held out his arms. Blanche’s wings fluttered behind her to slow her descent, but she took his hand and let him balance her landing. _ “You look wonderful as always today. You should wear this shade of yellow more often. It complements your stunning eyes.” _

She continued glaring at him with her ‘stunning’ violet eyes. His deep green ones glimmered, and the corners of his eyes creased from his answering smile. She huffed with embarrassment before patting down her skirt to remove imaginary dust.

_ “I told you to hush, hadn’t I?” _ she grumbled. Even so, she had yet to remove her hand from his, clutching it a bit tighter instead, so he continued to smile carelessly.

_ “You love my sonnets.” _

_ “I’d love to shove you into that shimmery glass river you went on about.” _

_ “Harsh, my dear.” _

Aerre continued to sing his sonnets and pretty proses of his love and her beauty. Blanche rarely admitted that she enjoyed his company, but that never diminished their time together. The two were rebellious and wild and complimented each other perfectly. Aerre showered her in everything her heart desires. He catered to her every whim, provided a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on, and had the seemingly pure intention of just making her happy. Blanche was grateful that Aerre’s emphasis on her perfection included her flaws rather than in spite of.

The two were so in love.

But remember that Blanche, born in darkness, was born under an unlucky star. Such a perfect life was never meant to last.

Throughout their entire relationship, there were always little things. Nothing of note, but they were little things that felt wrong nonetheless. They were simple things like a sudden flash of fear and killing intent in their calmest moments, sicknesses occurring far more often with Aerre bringing the cure just before it became fatal… Those kinds of off things. 

Blanche noticed, but she was still a pampered young mistress. She was naive, sheltered. She brushed it all off, certain that nothing truly bad would happen to her, not with her status, her guards, and her beloved there to protect her.

One day, Aerre has gifted her a comb of finely sculpted rosewood inlaid with the tiniest flower-carved amethysts. It was a work of masterful beauty, and Blanche adored it. After many days of using it, she fell frighteningly ill. While sick, she misplaced her favorite comb for a few days. When Aerre found it and returned it to her, her illness subsided. Nevertheless, it almost crippled her. This was one occurrence of many, but it was such a frightening event that Aerre, at her bedside, proposed.

No one particularly cared for their difference in status, excitedly rushing about to prepare for the wedding. It was an elaborate affair but it was one that fit the bride and groom-to-be so well. The gossamer fabric Blanche loved were strewn in ribbons across the tree branches, jewels dangled from invisible threads, and lightning bugs and will-o-wisps fluttered about. It was natural magic at its finest.

Vows were exchanged. _ “I do.” _

Then, everything descended into chaos.

You see, the Seelie are fickle beings. Absolute loyalty and adoration can turn into unrivaled hatred at the drop of a hat.

It was barely a second.

Just one little thing that turned over every other thing.

Aerre had stepped back for a second. In just one second, sun-bleached blond hair, forest green eyes, and fluffed green wings were replaced with a being of indescribable nature. Even so, the elderly LeFay recognized it immediately: the true form of a Changeling.

Neither the LeFay nor Aerre took any chances. Aerre ran. He didn’t bother pretending. He utilized his shapeshifting as best as he could. The Seelie pursued him for three days and three nights until they were so far from Aerre’s tracks that they had no hope of finding him…

—

Blanch approached the river. It reflected the sky above like glass despite the moon merely a sliver.

She walked slowly and quietly then looked down to where her husband had curled up by the river’s gentle waves.

_ “Will you kill me?” _ he asked, already accepting of his fate. Blanche opened a parasol blocking the starlight to cast both of them in shadow.

_ “The Unseelie Queen led them all away and killed everyone,” _ Blanche said emptily. _ “Everyone is gone. No one is left.” _With a steady sweep of the parasol, she pulled it closed and pierced it straight through Aerre’s chest. She let go of the handle and walked away into the darkness.

Aerre brought a hand to where he was impaled and sighed. Everyone knows that you need to behead a Changeling to kill them.

Aerre closed his eyes and refused to open them ever again. Blanche changed her name and became a soldier for the kingdom.

Blanche LeFay and Aerre Pomme never met again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not mentioned in this drabble but Blanche and Aerre actually had a son they named Carmine. He was conceived of wedlock and it was while he was still a fetus that Blanche almost died from sickness. He was born shortly before Blanche and Aerre's disastrous wedding. I might post a later drabble about what happened to him since he has some importance to later events in Caelus.


	2. Valerianella locusta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A cruel dame keeps a beautiful maiden locked up in a tower, isolated from the world. The beautiful maiden has beautiful hair, long and lustrous and strong. One day, someone will come and prove that there is more to life than just her tower."
> 
> Valerian was probably the epitome of apathy. He had to be in order to stay sane after centuries of weaving at the godforsaken loom and especially after meeting the chaotic hurricane that was Spirit.

_ Once upon a time, there was a husband and wife. They loved each other dearly. _

_ The husband once worked for a queen. He was her best hunter. It was during a hunt that he met his future wife. He pursued her with vigor, and the two were soon to be wed. He ignored his queen and her orders to return. _

_ Soon, his wonderful wife was with child. They were overjoyed and arrangements were made to celebrate the new life. Unfortunately, not all went as planned for the wife fell ill. No cure could be found as her health dwindled dangerously. _

_ The husband sought out his queen. He loved his wife truly and dearly and would even risk his own life if it meant her life could be ensured. In exchange for a cure to his wife’s illness, he must give the queen a single thing of her choice when the time came. He didn’t hesitate to agree. _

_ Little did he know that when his wife gave birth to a healthy and hearty son, the Queen would steal him away with barely a word of warning. _

—

This was the story that Valerian was told.

Valerian was born to two loving parents without ever having the chance to receive said love. The Queen and her minions often rubbed this in his face.

The Queen made it no secret that her purpose in keeping Valerian around was for his bloodline. As the son of her best hunter and the heiress of a powerful family, his magic was beyond amazing. She had him grow out his hair every fourteen years, then she would chop it all often in one swift motion and have him spin and weave it into the finest, magically imbued fabrics of the land. The lavender cloths were highly sought after and brought the Queen great riches every fourteen years.

Valerian put all of his magic into the cloth every fourteen years. As a result, he never formed wings and would never know what they should look like. He spent every nearly second of his life trapped in the highest tower of the Queen’s palace. 

Every blue moon, he’d be allowed to wander the rest of the castle. He looked forward to those days where he could explore the library and read to his heart’s content. (He would also sneak his favorites back to his tower.)

This was his life for over a thousand years.

—

_ “La lalala la la la.” _

Valerian as he pulled the thread through the weave in a series of motions he had long since perfected. His voice was as clear as bell, but there was a hint of raspiness within it, as though sore from lack of use. Creaks of a floor loom echoed through the dimly lit room in constant beats to match his song.

**“Shut up!”** an angry wind screamed through the windows, shaking the tower violently. Valerian expertly steadied his loom and shut his mouth. He continued to weave the magic fabric of his recently cut his hair without pause. **“Valerian, get to the dungeons and deal with this stupid brat!”**

Valerian sighed as he set down the shuttle holding the weft. He looked at the ceiling blankly before sighing again.

A portion of the cherry wood floor paneling not too far from Valerian and his loom collapsed. Valerian pulled on one of the many fabrics hanging from the ceiling, tugged it, then used it to descend at a frightening speed. As he approached the ground, his velocity slowed until he could hop down gracefully. He disappeared into the shadows and reemerged behind rusted iron bars.

Sitting there was a young boy, a dark elf it seemed. The child, from what could be seen in the almost nonexistent firelight, had skin like white lead paint, hair as black as ash, and angry blood red eyes. His lips were pulled back in a growl at Valerian. 

_ ‘Weird kid,’ _ Valerian thought. If he had a warmer coloring, he’d look beautiful instead of like a demon.

Valerian continued to stare to the point that the kid eventually just backed away warily rather than continually trying to intimidate him. He seemed to have exhausted himself. Neither of them broke eye contact though.

“What do you want?” the kid hissed. Valerian tilted his head. The light shifted just enough to reveal the glass-like wings fluttering slightly behind the kid’s back.

“This isn’t your first kidnapping, is it?” Valerian eventually asked. The Unseelie Queen often had him deal with the victims she’d bring in, so Valerian was well-acquainted with how they act. This kid was way too calm.

“I wasn’t kidnapped.”

“Sold, then?” 

The kid gave Valerian a very rude gesture. “I snuck in because I heard someone singing a traditional fae song. Got caught obviously— what’s with that look? Don’t look at me like that!”

Valerian rubbed against his temple to settle the migraine that just formed. _ ‘Stupid brat, indeed.’ _

“Considering we’re currently at the Unseelie base of operations in the benign realm,” the kid started up again in that arrogant tone of his. He really didn’t seem to care about his fate at all. “I’m going to assume that you’re the fae I heard singing. Nice voice. So are you here to kill me?”

“You’re aware.”

“Well, duh. You’re carrying one of those binding ropes. You weren’t that off the mark of me being sold, but I was sold to one of the monsters that roam in and out. Decided to make a ruckus and got my buyer executed. I’d rather be killed than used as a cauldron.” The kid snickered at the glare that was shot at him. “No surprise that you’re one. Looks like I get to escape while you can’t.” He bared his throat like the suicidal prick that he is.

Out of spite, Valerian made the decision to go against the Queen’s orders and not kill the brat. He walked over to a random part of the wall. He grabbed a slightly extended brick with his bare fingers. His nails extended, gripping firmly into the stone. He tugged. To the kid’s surprise, the entire wall pulled out like a door on hinges.

_ ‘What kind of person is this?’ _ the kid wondered.

“Walk straight. Turn on the fifth right. Keep going until you reach the flooded room. There’s a hole that leads into the moat surrounding the castle. You can escape from there.”

The kid stared at Valerian with heavy suspicion. “Considering it sounds like you’ve done it before and are still here, how do I know I won’t get caught?”

“They never caught me. I just can’t leave even if I wanted to.” Valerian wasn’t sure why he was telling this kid so much, but it’s not like he’d ever see the kid again.

“What a shame.” The kid stood up and walked to the hidden passageway. He sniffed the air. “Fresh air and stale water. Maybe you’re not lying to me.” He looked over his shoulder and grinned at his rescuer. “Thanks. I’m called Spirit, by the way. Spirit Weiss.”

“Glass Coffin?” Valerian asked.

Spirit scoffed. “Guess so. I look forward to the Queen finding out your dissent.”

“I’ll live.” Spirit stuck out his tongue and moved to leave. “I’m called Valerian.”

Spirit smirked. He didn’t look back as he started running down the passage. He did hear the door close behind him though.

—

“Hallo, enjel!” a familiar voice gleefully called from the window. Valerian didn’t even hesitate in his weaving as a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind. “Not going to greet me?”

“Bonsoir, votre majesté,” Valerian blandly replied.

“I climbed up your tower with my bare hands and everything. Would be a shame if I got my blood on that fancy fabric of yours.”

“It’s your loss.”

“You’re right. I’d rather not have my blood in the hands of unknown strangers.” Spirit pulled back. He wandered over to Valerian’s unused bed and pulled out the first aid kit. “Enjel~ Can you wrap my hands? I can’t possibly do it with how injured I am!”

Valerian sighed as he stepped away from his loom. He kneeled on the ground before Spirit then got to work wrapping bandages on the very badly worn hands. “I still can’t believe that you climbed my tower again. One of these days you’re going to get caught or fall.” He tore the remainder of the bandage and stared Spirit’s hands. “Or both.”

“Could be worse!” Spirit chirped. “I could be you.” Valerian pinched the bloodied palm, eliciting a hiss from the injured prince.

“You’re so immature.”

“Spirry is three-years-old!” Spirit shamelessly declared in falsetto.

“I’m going to throw you out that window.”

“Wait, no."

This was life for Valerian. His centuries of doing the Unseelie Queen’s bidding were no longer lonely. He no longer spent his days endlessly weaving. Spirit came sporadically and without warning, but what was a few weeks or even months of waiting when he had spent a thousand years staring at perfectly aligned threads?

—

When Valerian was a child by mortal standards, before he cut his hair for the first time and was forced to weave it, the Unseelie Queen had allowed him free rein of the palace. At the time, it was just some castle ruins the Queen had found and shoved him in. To keep him occupied, the Queen had “gifted” him with knowledge of all languages and shoved him into the library. After many years of reading, he had found a children’s book stuffed between the wall and a shelf, long forgotten and very wrinkled.

It was a child’s introductory guide to Stories. With that single book, he learned that every living being was born with a role, usually multiple. Whether that role was “Friendly Servant A” or “Cursed Princess,” everyone had one. They occurred in such frequent patterns that people just noticed them and wrote them down. No one was subjected to a set-in-stone fate, but people just tended to fall into these “Stories.”

The one that caught Valerian’s eye, however, was the story of the Towered Maiden. It told of a child that had been taken from her parents in exchange for something from a witch. The child was raised in a tower, never cutting her hair, until a prince found his way in. The prince would visit the maiden until the witch inevitably found out and tricked the prince using the girl’s hair. What happened next was up in the air depending on the people, but it was usually a happy ending for the maiden and the princess.

Valerian recognized the story and held it close to his heart even after the pages of that book yellowed and eventually turned to dust from Valerian’s constant fiddling. One day, he’d be free.

—

Then centuries past with nothing to show for it.

Valerian learned that he didn’t have to place all his faith on a generalized fairy tale. He could carve his own destiny. With every chance he got, he tried to find a way out. He took advantage of his endless time to explore the castle for secret passages and exits.

And he did. He found them. He swam out of the moat and stared. This was the closest he’d ever been to the outside. He could actually _ see _ the blades of grass and leaves on the trees… Only to be tugged back. There was something tying him to the castle, something magical and forceful. It was a leash and his tugging against it warned the Unseelie Queen.

He was promptly dragged back and dumped in that isolated tower. The Queen gloated that he could never escape. Even if every stone brick was turned to dust, his magic, his life, was tied to the castle grounds. 

—

“You know,” Spirit said, running a hand through Valerian’s newly cut hair. “You actually look really cute with short hair. I didn’t really think of it much when you cut it last time considering it was the first time we’d met.”

“The Queen says that both of my parents had the kind of ageless face that makes them look minors,” Valerian replied emotionlessly.

“Huh.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You know how there’s like a whole forest of thorny rose bushes surrounding the bottom of this tower?”

“Of course I do. Who do you think bandages up those scratches of yours.”

“You, but that’s not the point.” Valerian turned away from his loom to give Spirit the deadest expression he could muster. “It’s not! So what happened was that I ran into this group of faes on my way here, and I mean actual faes. The ones like you, the wingless kind that looks identical to Humans. Anyway, they were kinda hovering around the edges of the forest and staring at your tower. So I was like, ‘Uh, hey, you know this castle is cursed, right?’ And they actually responded with, ‘We already know about the Towered Maiden. We’re kind of just here on a mission to get the flowers that grow at the bottom.’ So I offered to get the flowers for them since I’m used to traveling through the brambles anyway. They were like ‘Sorry. We have to snip them off ourselves, unfortunately.’ And I wished them good luck. The point here is that there were these two faes in the group who looked a lot like you. They’re probably still down there if you want to see them. Not everyday you meet new people.” Spirit cackled sadistically at that last sentence.

“Okay,” Valerian responded dumbly, still processing the fact that there were actually people aside from Spirit. He walked over to the window with Spirit and looked down to see the group Spirit had described.

The two of them just watched the group roughhouse each other in the thorns. They really didn’t seem to get along, or maybe they got along too well. Neither Spirit nor Valerian knew how friendship worked. It took a while before the group at the bottom bothered to look up and notice their observers. 

A young woman with black hair and donned in purple and white was the first to notice. She waved at them cheerfully. She didn’t shout, but her voice was carried by the wind.

“Do you need any help down?” her voice asked. It was a method that was eerily similar to what the Unseelie Queen used to contact Valerian, but this woman’s voice was gentler and kinder, like flower petals floating through a breeze rather the Queen’s thunderous hail. Valerian assumed it might work the same way if he replied normally.

“It’s okay. I can leave if I wanted to.”

“If you say so,” the woman said back. 

With that, she turned away from the tower to rejoin her group. Valerian continued to watch them.

“So who are the two that look like me?” Valerian asked Spirit.

Spirit pointed to the lady that had talked to them. “That woman has the same face as you. Her magic is also purple, although it’s much more vibrant than your lavender.” He then points to a blond in red. “That person also has a similar face, but it’s not as obvious as the woman’s. To be honest, when I first saw him, I thought he was you. You have the same eyes, nose, and hair. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume they’re what your parents would look like.”

“Shame I can’t see them up close.”

It wasn’t much longer until the group finished collecting a bouquet of roses. They noticed that Valerian and Spirit were still watching and they all waved.

“Goodbye,” the wind once again carried the woman’s voice to say. “If you ever need help, that friend of yours is welcome to visit the Starlight Manor.” Without missing a beat, the group left.

Spirit and Valerian stared at them in shock, the former suddenly grabbing the latter’s arm to hold himself. “Wait, were they the current Starlight Heroes?! Did we just talk to the Whirlwind? Were they on an adventure, and I just completely missed them?!”

“So it seems.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The names of Fairy Tales in our world are called something different in Caelus's world because the characters' identities aren't always the same. Snow White is called Glass Coffin, and Rapunzel is called Towered Maiden. While their names vary, they usually have similar themes. In this case, Spirit Weiss and Valerian (rapunzel is a common name for Valerianella locusta). 
> 
> Starlight Heroes is an artificial Story that exists only in their world. They're the main characters of Caelus: World of Stories. Spirit is a really big fan of them and gushed about their Stories to Valerian a lot.
> 
> P.S. In case you haven't noticed, Valerian is the son of Blanche and Aerre.


	3. Naïveté and Cynicism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hair as black as ebony. Lips as red as the rose. Skin as white as snow. A maiden so beautiful, she's encased in glass instead of dirt. Beloved by all but one and naive enough to fall for a poisoned apple."
> 
> Spirit Weiss is the exact opposite of naive. He wasn't constantly kidnapped because he had an unwavering faith in the innate goodness of others. He just wanted to be knocked out by a poison apple soon or whatever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: suicide ideation

Spirit Weiss was not naive. Quite the contrary, he was very jaded. Not even an adult, yet the boy recognized that life is generally pretty bad. Sometimes there were good things (like the feeling of having his hair combed by someone trustworthy, like fresh fruit, like visiting Valerian), but things were usually bad (like being born cursed, like shifty adults, like temperamental children, like the fact that he had to climb a 70 foot tower whenever he wanted to visit Valerian).

Spirit Weiss was fully aware of his fate too. He knew that his life was one of the many renditions of the Glass Coffin. Mostly everyone else knew also. More times than he’d like to count, some wankers would try to take advantage of their so-called “common knowledge” of Glass Maidens always being naive to assassinate him or kidnap him for ransom. They’d treat him like a little kid or, worse, like a dog. He knew that there wasn’t any candy in their godforsaken vans. Any parent worth their salt would teach their spawns “stranger danger.”

Not like his parents were one of them though. He was taught that by a maid who had a couple of kids of her own.

Well, Spirit never bothered changing how people viewed him. He often “fell” for their tricks after all. After so many kidnapping incidents, the general public must have thought that he just wasn’t all there.

No, Spirit Weiss wasn’t naive. He was just seeking death. Spirit knew full well that he wouldn’t die, at least not permanently. He wasn’t courting the Grim Reaper; he just wanted to go to sleep. His idiot parents had angered one of the kingdom’s goddesses, and he had been the one cursed with the inability to see. Why was he cursed? Why not them? It was their fault!

Regardless, his parents had a glass coffin with his name on it already prepared, ready to be used for when they could parade it around the kingdom and say “Look! Our son is the Glass Maiden! Marry him to the royal family already!” They claimed that it was because the royal family could convince the goddess to remove the curse, but Spirit was fully aware that they had commissioned that glass coffin from the gnomes years before.

Regardless, Spirit was just everlastingly tired and very willing to slit a few throats to get what we wanted — his own included. He couldn’t wait to get it over with.

—

He didn’t really think much about his first meeting with Valerian. It wasn’t the first time someone who was supposed to kill him decided to let him go. The faking death archetype was a pretty common one in his life whether it be in the form of a Hunter, Poison, or Strangulation.

One of these days, he’d get some actual sleep instead of passing out for a couple of hours even if it’s in the form of a medically induced coma.

Nonetheless, he found Valerian fascinating. He often returned through the thorn forest to climb the only open window in the entire castle. The window was at the top off a 70-foot tower, and he had to climb it with his bare (okay, gloved) hands? He’s an expert in climbing due to the sheer number of times he had to climb himself out of hell. Valerian hated the fact that the gloves didn’t actually protect his hands, only preventing blood from seeping onto the tower’s stones.

One of these days, the Unseelie Queen would find out about his visits and finally knock him out. Thank the heavens.

—

“‘Kiss of true love’ like hell,” Spirit mocked. “Everyone knows that all you have to do is remove the poison. As much as I wish it were, this isn’t an eternal sleeping curse. It’s just regular poison.”

“At least your awake now?”

“I never slept in the first place. The Unseelie Queen’s poison couldn’t counteract a goddess’s curse. Once again, even though my body was knocked out, I was still fully conscious.”

“Ah. Are you going to get that fixed? It was the royal family that, er, ‘woke you up.’”

“Apparently, the goddess that cursed me was also cursed by another goddess with that eternal sleeping, so yay.”

“I’m sorry for you.”

“I just want to yeet myself off a cliff and succeed.”

“Well…” Valerian looked out the window.

“It won’t work, engel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't obvious in the previous two shorts, but Caelus actually has a modern fantasy setting. The first one featuring Blanche and Aerre actually takes place in the distant past, in an Edwardian setting. 
> 
> Spirit's rendition of the Glass Coffin is the most boring rendition to date. It's just a guy that keeps almost getting killed and being rescued at the last minute. The Starlight Heroes from the last chapter have the unfortunate effect of messing around with destiny. As a result, they accidentally delayed the Goddess of Waking from lifting the curse off of Spirit.


	4. After Everything Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You, who lost everything to someone you loved, cast aside your past to devote yourself elsewhere. Did you expect to come to blows with someone you killed?"
> 
> "The poisoned apple dislodged itself from her throat, and she woke up."
> 
> Aelia tried to ignore it all. Mierre knew nothing at all. Maybe if the timing was just slightly different, fate could have been overturned and they would have a happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: violence

Aelia Blanc had no history as far as anyone was aware of. Curiosity usually got the better of people, so they’d ask. She’d tell them that when she was younger, she had everything anyone could have wanted. She had great friends, a supportive family, a loving fiance, and a lot of money. All of it was taken away in a single night. 

So she left it all behind. With nothing but a coin purse and the remains of her wedding dress on her back, she traveled to the capital of the kingdom in search of a new life. There, she found a place in the barracks and progressed through the ranks until she found herself as a palace guard. Her bloodline would likely die with her, but it would be fine. She had two wonderful friends and a cute junior that looked up to her. She was okay.

—

Good things never last forever. Aelia learned that the hard way, but she didn’t think it would happen again at the same drastic level.

Honestly, was she a walking death flag? First, her home town was razed to the ground, then her country? If she survived this battle, she was going to hermit herself away in the forests and never talk to anyone ever again. Can’t lose your friends if you didn’t have any. Although, it wasn’t likely that she’d survive anyway. She would be severely outnumbered once she left the room.

She eyed the doors to the balcony. She could just jump off and fly out, but… She was still a soldier. 

With her resolve strengthened and grip tight around her sword, she opened the door and strode out.

There wasn’t anyone in her immediate vicinity, but that didn’t mean she was safe. Even if the spiral staircase leading up to her was empty, but she could hear scampering and screaming from the bottom. With a deep breath, she took the steps down.

As expected, she came face to face with someone that had been hiding in the alcoves. The man wasn’t memorable, but Aelia recognized him. She held her sword out in a defensive stance. He shrunk back to hide behind the wall, but a dagger was held firmly in his hand and killing intent radiated from his very being.

The Winters were a noble family that had lost favor with the royal family after the previous lord and lady had passed away and left everything to their severely incompetent son. Eventually, people started seeing the new Lord Winters accompanied by his never-before-seen cousin, Mierre.

Lord Winters was a traitor to the kingdom, and Mierre was a spy brought in by him from the Unseelie Realm. From what Aelia had seen, Mierre was not combat-oriented. He was trained in reconnaissance and assassination. Mierre held himself the same way Aerre did…

Aelia wiped the thought from her head and lunged forward.

Mierre was quick on his feet and easily dodged. He didn’t hesitate to take advantage of Aella’s momentum and slashed his dagger towards her. Aelia avoided a fatal blow, but her wings were caught instead. She was expecting her death anyway. Without acknowledging the crippling pain, she swung back.

To her surprise, her sword passed through Mierre’s body as though he were mist. The magic that flowed through was far too recognizable.

“Aerre?” she choked out.

Mierre’s expression turned contrite. He didn’t look at her as he stabbed his dagger towards her. She shut her eyes to prepare for her death. Instead, she felt an all-encompassing pain that tore a heart-piercing scream from her. Mierre had changed course straight into her wing, pinning it to the wall.

“Stop,” Mierre murmured under his breath, directed at some unknown entity. He suddenly ripped his dagger across the wall, ripping Aelia’s wings at the base. 

The extreme pain knocked her unconscious.

—

Mierre was a puppet, nothing more than an empty shell with strings. Nothing passed through his mind other than the complex commands given to him by the Unseelie Queen and whichever master he’d been loaned to for a particular mission.

Over the years, he’d be continuously given new names, new forms, and new goals. Not a single thought passed through his head.

Not until a single spark of mournful familiarity lit up within him. 

“Aerre?” he heard through the muffling void. With his entire being, he forced himself out.

“Stop!” he cried, finally aware of what was happening. “Let go of me!” He forced himself to jump back and collapsed on the ground. Blanche’s scream would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He grabbed at the cursed brooch around his neck and tugged, ripping the skin off his own throat. Bringing forth as much magic as he could, he destroyed it. The Unseelie Queen would be after him soon. He picked himself up through the haze, moving through sheer determination.

“Blanche,” he called out in a raspy breath. He stumbled towards her and grabbed onto her wrist. He murmured a spell under his breath, and the world blurred around them. He pulled away from Blanche to cough blood into his hand. “Hell… Blanche?”

He pushed at her without resistance. Her wings were torn to shred, but they hadn’t disappeared completely. She was still alive, but whether she would wake up was up to fate. He… he had faith that she would.

He placed a hand behind her back and her knees then picked her up with a strength that didn’t match his appearance. The false wings on his back flapped a few time, hovering him above the ground before he shot off as far as he could.

After what felt like forever, he stumbled across a hut. It seemed habited.

“Someone?” he rasped, nearly tripping over his feet while landing. The door opened to reveal a little man with a pointy hat — a gnome. “I… Can you… Help?”

“Somethin’ wrong with the dearie in your arms?” he asked, eyes kind and worried.

“Wings… She’s comatose,” Mierre— Aerre— stammered. “I don’t know where to go.” He fell to his knees but kept his once-fiancee safely above the ground.

The gnome waddled closer to get a good look at her. “Glass Coffin?” he questioned. Aerre nodded slowly.

“We’ll take care o’ her ‘en, lad,” the gnome reassured. “What’s her name?”

“Aelia,” he whispered.

“Brin’ her in,” the gnome said. He opened the door for Aerre. “Just se’ her on the bed.”

Aerre could feel the Unseelie Queen’s approach. 

He gazed sadly at Blanche, who now laid motionless on the bed. He had changed her out of her bloody uniform and into a pale yellow dress that resembled one she favored in their youth.

He bent over her, just a breath away. A kiss might wake her up.

He pursed his lips, then took a step back. Not from him, though. He had to leave.

In the dead of night, he turned to mist and disappeared.

—

Aerre was burning up his magic, steadily but surely.

The Unseelie Queen followed his magic signature. If he just removed all of his magic, she couldn’t follow him. He had expended his initially overwhelming magic source 

Forcing himself out of the puppet’s curse, destroying it entirely, casting a teleportation spell to the farthest regions of his memory, carrying a whole person for who knows how long, erasing his tracks… He was currently zipping around the forests, trying to lose his pursuers. 

Finally, his flight gave out as he crashed into a tree. With the very last vestiges of his magic, he changed his appearance as much as he could. With contradictory relief and consternation, he could only turn his coloring. It would be enough.

“Look here, boys!” a disgusting shout came. Aerre gasped as he was suddenly pulled to his feet. “Didn’t think there’d be one of those humans here.”

Life could always be worse, but at least the Unseelie Queen wouldn’t be using him anymore.

Aerre prepared himself for a life’s worth of misery.

He wasn’t expecting for the stars to fall and for his “life” to extend for a thousand more years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh... I dunno. It was like 3AM, and I was feeling the need for some angst.
> 
> Aelia is a greek naming with the meaning of Sun, so "Aelia Blanc" is basically "Sun White." Aerre was aware of this, so he took up the name Cia, which is also a greek naming that means "Of the Moon." Also, the gnome misheard Aelia's name, which is where Aella came from when she would wake up without her memories.
> 
> Blanche, Aelia, and Aella are the same person; Aerre, Mierre, and Cia are the same person. Almost none of this information is relevant in the main story, so... yeah.

**Author's Note:**

> All artwork is drawn by me! Check out the art featured here on my IG @dreamlessashes


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